Le Mort Vivant
by anonmachine
Summary: There is contract killer on the streets, and the bodies of his victims are always found drained of blood. A young Christine attracts his attention, but he might very well be the death of her. DarkVampire!Erik Full summary inside.


Full summary: _There is a contract killer haunting the streets of Paris. His method of killing hints of the supernatural, as his victims are all found with puncture wounds on the side of their necks, and all of them are drained completely of blood._

_As rumours fly around the city of _le mort vivant_, the living dead, the usually un-superstitious and cynical l'Inspecteur Mifroid, in charge of the investigation of the gruesome killings, finds himself beginning to question his own beliefs of the paranormal. _

_Meanwhile in the Paris Opera House, a recently orphaned Christine Daaé is haunted by the beautiful voice of the Angel of Music. Unknown to her, the terrible murderer and her Angel are one and the same. It is her beguiling innocence that draws the dark creature near. A brilliant man, but lacking in humanity and with no shortage of vindictiveness, Erik may very well be the death of the young singer._

_ (DarkVampire!Erik)_

* * *

Prologue: Hunt

He ran blindly, as fast as he could. There was no cold moonlight to help him through the darkened streets, and he stumbled constantly. He wanted so badly to scream, curse…cry for help – but he knew not to waste his breath. He needed to get away. His heart was pounding so very hard in his chest, each heart beat melding into the next.

He risked a glance back and saw a shadow flit silently, from one black alley to the next.

His foot caught on something and he went down heavily, managing just in time to stop himself smashing his head on the street by throwing out his hands. He cast his gaze frantically about, trying to discern in which dark corner the shadowy figure was lurking. Perspiration dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes. He scrambled to his feet and threw another panicked glance over his shoulder.

A tremor of pure terror trilled down his spine when he heard a deep chuckle, just beside his ear. He shivered violently, but found himself too petrified to turn around.

'_Monsieur_,' his pursuer murmured calmly, not at all short of breath.

It was the brush of icy fingers on his throat, just below his ear, that broke the spell of terror that immobilised him. He uttered a wordless cry and darted away. He only made it a few feet before he was knocked to the ground, his forehead smacking the edge of the sidewalk.

The pain momentarily blinded him, and he groaned. He felt disorientated. Thick liquid dripped pass his eyelashes. With a trembling hand, he reached up to touch the deep gash on his brow. He hissed and when pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood.

A breeze sweep the street, and it swirled around his hand, caressing each finger with its stinging chilly touch, before languidly curling under the collar of his coat.

There was a sharp intake of breath behind him, followed by the sounds of a sensuous sigh - his pursuer.

He stared at his fingers, at the blood, feeling frighteningly detached for a brief moment.

There was a rustle of expensive silk directly behind him.

He shivered, but it was not because of the cold.

Slowly, he turned his head to stare up at the hunter.

He was very tall. His deathly white skin contrasted sharply with his crisp black suit. There was an air of supernatural elegance around him. He had a sculpted look; his facial structure too perfect. He was strangely beautiful. Dangerously beautiful.

He might have been an angel, or a displaced Greek god, but it was his eyes that gave him away – they were steely grey, cold, lifeless, and without any hint of benign benevolence.

'_Le mort vivant,'_ the prey whispered hoarsely, his tone full of dread. The Living Dead.

The cold eyes glinted briefly, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, revealing sharp fangs.

'_Oui_,_' _the creature replied, before reaching down a pale hand to grasp the neck of the man.

And there was no time to scream.

* * *

_To be continued…_


End file.
